


Guts Guts Guts

by oceantovre



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Depression, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Sexual Content, not too descriptive
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-09
Updated: 2018-10-09
Packaged: 2019-07-28 13:40:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16242770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oceantovre/pseuds/oceantovre
Summary: Kuroo asked about the bruises, and Kenma just said he fell over.“I let five men do things to me that would make your mother scream.”“If you’d been there, Kuroo, you would have killed them right there. You should have seen what they did.”Kenma didn’t say any of that. He said: “I fell over”.





	Guts Guts Guts

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first kind of dark fic, I guess? And it’s really loosely based around my interpretation of a poem I wrote. It’s almost a rant fic, but I made it darker because I wanted to push myself as a writer into darker areas, so this is what we end up with.

* * *

_Worthless. Unwanted. Nugatory._

Kenma had always liked words, when he was growing up that is. He had liked poetry and reading, and making the words all twist and vine and mingle together until they made a short story, or an essay, or a whatever-else-assignment-the-teacher-made. Words were a way for Kenma to get all of his feelings out.

But eventually, the words turn on you. You spend so much time thinking about them that they get a life of their own and suddenly it hurts when they yell at you from inside your own skull.

_Disgusting._

Because he was gay. That’s what his mind told him, and he responded by walking out of his ratty apartment, finding the nearest place where he knew he’d find trouble, and selling himself for half of the worth of a microwave. He walked home with decent money, bruises on his body, and a soreness that would last for days. Kuroo asked about the bruises, and Kenma just said he fell over. Words failed him, then, because he didn’t have anything better to say.

_“I let five men do things to me that would make your mother scream.”_

_“I offered my body because I don’t think I deserve to be alive.”_

_“If you’d been there, Kuroo, you would have killed them right there. You should have seen what they did.”_

Kenma didn’t say any of that. He said: “I fell over”.

Kuroo said: “You didn’t”.

But then, the conversation was over and Kenma drifted to sleep, being careful of his arm that hurt like hell.

_You don’t deserve to be alive._

So, Kenma took the razor that he’d stolen from the gas station (it had only cost 49¢, but that was beside the point) and he dug the sharp metal into the soft flesh of his thighs. It didn’t hurt, not really. It felt like a release, like all of his pain was flowing out on a ride of crimson blood, and if he just let the river flow, he would be fine.

He didn’t stop until Kuroo came home and found him sitting there, in the bathtub.

Kuroo said: “Kitten” and it damn near broke whatever was left of Kenma’s heart. But okay, one more shot.

_You don’t deserve him._

Kenma said: “I’m leaving you” and Kuroo spent the next five days in a bar, somewhere west of where Kenma was now forced to whore himself to even keep a roof over his head.

Night after night, a new man. A new man with something new to offer Kenma every night, and none of it was something Kenma wanted. But it was all he was good for, the words told him. To be used. To be abused like this.

So, he left Kuroo and he slept where he could.

_Let it happen. You deserve it._

“This is going to hurt now, baby,” the man said, poised over Kenma’s prone, drugged body. Kenma hadn’t even noticed the drug go into his drink, but there was no other explanation for why he couldn’t move, couldn’t think, couldn’t do anything except feel how much he hated this right now.

“That’s a good slut. You’re such a good fucking boy,” the man said. “Gonna sell you for real expensive on the market tomorrow. Some old fuck is gonna buy you and fuck you till you’re dry for the rest of your life.”

Kenma didn’t like that. Those words, he understood and he hated them. He didn’t want this. He didn’t want this pain anymore.

He said: “Please, stop”. The man pushed in harder, faster, made everything hurt just a bit more.

“You don’t get to say no, slut.”

Kenma tried again: “Please. Please, please, please.”

It didn’t work. He sang that one word mantra all night, and the man never stopped once. Not until he was satisfied, and let in seven more guards to have their fix before they sent Kenma off to whatever black market he’d been caught in. Kenma wanted Kuroo. He wanted safety now, more than anything.

_Get out._

The words were different know. They didn’t seem to hate him so much anymore, and Kenma was thankful.

He trudged down the streets of Tokyo, bloodied and battered. His hair was stringy with grime, and his thighs were caked in blood and sweat and any other bodily fluid you could think of.

He whispered: “Kuroo”.

Two more blocks. That’s all it would take. But it seemed impossible, like an ocean of cement and street that would swallow Kenma whole.

He got there, eventually. And he knocked, twice.

Kuroo said: “Kitten”.

And his Kitten said: “I’m sorry”.

The door opened wider, and Kenma came inside. It smelled like cinnamon apple, and the walls hadn’t changed, and the left side of the bed was still neat and tidy, with a PSP charger next to it.

Kenma said: “You knew I’d come back.”

Kuroo responded: “I hoped.”

And then Kuroo sat next to the bathtub while Kenma sat in it, and washed away the layers of grime and blood and guilt until Kenma sat there, raw and red and exposed. His words failed him, because there was nothing left to say.

Kuroo pulled his kitten out of the bathtub and wrapped him in a warm, fuzzy towel, and then helped him dress into a shirt three sizes too big and boxers slightly smaller. Kuroo used the towel to dry Kenma’s hair, and then they were alone in the bedroom with nothing to do.

“I’m sorry,” Kenma said.

“You don’t have to be,” Kuroo replied. “You were going through something, and I wasn’t there for you like I needed to be.”

“I didn’t like it, what they did to me,” Kenma admitted. “They wouldn’t let me say stop.”

“Kenma…”

“I don’t want that anymore. I just want Kuroo.”

Kuroo wanted him too, and Kenma was thankful the words seemed to fade whenever Kuroo was around.

“I love you, Ken.”

 

End.

 

(Below is the poem I based this writing on, so I thought I should include it)

 

_Guts Guts Guts_

Gut it, sure,

You can if you’d like.

You can gut it easy,

Just spill them out,

The flesh is thin,

Knives go through like butter,

Into the fleshy underbelly,

But watch out,

Be careful of it,

You can gut it, sure

But it might bite back

The innards might not be dormant

Might not be cold enough

Might hurt you

If you aren't careful

Those innards are twisted

Horrible, gnashing things,

Disgusting and ugly,

Watch out,

Watch out,

The guts might gut you back.

  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Please leave comments! This is kind of a new thing for me, so I really want to know what you all think!


End file.
